


Timeless Love

by WennyT



Category: DBSK|Tohoshinki|TVXQ
Genre: Fantasy, HMYW Fic Exchange 2013, M/M, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:43:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WennyT/pseuds/WennyT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Changmin discovers that his love for Yunho is timeless... Literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sohii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohii/gifts).



> HMYW Fic Exchange 2013; Groundhog Day prompt. Inspired partly by the dramaプロポーズ大作戦.  
> Insert obligatory disclaimer here.

**ONE**

**I don't have to see you everyday**

**Only fools put chains on love**

**And if I had to live life through**

**Alone and without you**

**I wouldn't change a thing**

* * *

_January 18, 2013_

_0430 hours_

Changmin rolls over with a groan, one hand fumbling blindly at his nightstand. His fingers smacks down on something upon their fifth try, and the alarm clock chokes in mid-shriek. Pressing his face into the pillow, he inhales slowly.

He can still smell Yunho on the fabric even though the last time his hyung had slept over was nearly a fortnight ago. Before he started filming for his new drama series. Speaking of which…

His pillow vibrates right on cue.

Fumbling beneath it with his eyes still closed, he fishes his phone out and cracks an eye open reluctantly. The screen flashes, a grey box blocking out half of the five faces beaming cheerily out at him.

 

_형_

**Changmin-ah! Time to wake up ^^**

 

Changmin snorts, fingers flying across the keyboard when his phone shivers in his grip and another blue box pops up. He blinks, nonplussed. Since when has Yunho’s typing speed improved so much?

 

_형_

**Remember to eat some breakfast and not just drink coffee! (:**

 

He rolls his eyes and taps out a few more letters before pressing ‘Send’.

**I’m not the one who needs me to yell at him before he drags himself out of bed. And since when can you type so fast?**

 

An involuntary yelp escapes his lips when he swings his feet down onto the floor. “Cold!” he gasps, hobbling awkwardly across the room and jamming his feet into a pair of furry bunny slippers, half-hidden behind a chest of drawers.

The bunny faces smile up at him, dopey and sweet. Sort of like their giver when he is not focused on being a responsible adult.

They are a housewarming present of sorts from Yunho- the latter had given them to him while declaring jokingly “his Bambi needs Thumper to keep him company now that he’s living alone”.  They were clearly meant as a gag gift but Changmin wears them anyway.

Because they are so warm and winter in Seoul is too cold this year. Yes, because they are warm.

It’s just that the last time he wore them in the house while hosting a wine party for Kyuline, Minho and Kyuhyun had spent the entire evening cackling at him while making bunny ears with their fingers. And Ryeowook had stared at his feet in polite disbelief when he joined them late in the night, after his radio session, before remarking that Changmin was so good to wear Yunho’s presents even if they were not to his taste.

Changmin is not sure if he should feel offended that one of his best friends hinted that he is too uptight for bunny slippers. (He is used to the other two being idiots.) Or that it is too obvious he harbours a too-large soft spot for the man who has been a big brother and a leader to him for over a decade.

Ever since that incident, though, he only wears the slippers when he’s alone in the house and not expecting anyone. They spend the rest of the time huddling cozily in dark corners, concealed from sight and not forgotten.

He looks down again at them as he pads out of the bedroom, and as expected, there is no blame in their beaming features.

His phone vibrates again, in his pocket.

 

_형_

**I’m dictating^^ Manager hyung is helping me type~~ On break now!!!!**

 

Changmin frowns; toothbrush loose in his left hand while his attention is focused on the phone held in his right.

 

**You mean you’re still at the shooting site? You haven’t slept? Since you’re having a break now, you should nap. Don’t text me. I won’t reply.**

 

He is dressed and shrugging on his fur jacket when the reply comes. Clicking his tongue, he grabs it and shoves it into his pocket. Maybe if he doesn’t reply, Yunho will get the message that he’s supposed to be resting.

 

* * *

 

_January 18, 2013_

_0515 hours_

“Your macchiato is extra sweet and with extra sauce. And I told them to add more milk. Are you sure you don’t want breakfast? I bought two bagels, just in case-” Changmin shakes his head at his manager, who sits next to him in the car because Yunho isn’t around. “It’s fine. They’ll serve breakfast on the plane anyway, and my cheeks are getting round again.”

His manager fidgets, clearly unused to handling him alone without his partner –the senior manager who is with Yunho at his shoot for _Queen of Ambition_ right now- to back him up. “Yunho isn’t going to be happy to hear that. This not eating breakfast thing you’ve been doing for the past few weeks.”

Changmin takes a sip of his coffee. It’s scalding hot, and burns the tip of his tongue but that is just the way he likes it. “What Yunho doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

His manager frowns and folds his hands across his chest, eyeing him steadily. “All right, I’m not happy to hear that, then.”

He sighs and places his coffee into the holder built into the armrest. It’s a fact that he loves to eat, but he doesn’t understand why people act like the world is ending whenever he refuses food. “ _Hyung_ , stop worrying that I’m anorexic or whatever. If I am, I wouldn’t have asked for extra caramel sauce, would I?”

The other man doesn’t answer, lips thinning. Changmin heaves another sigh and continues, “I’m still eating. I promise. It’s just that I’m trying to cut down on snacks.”

Another charged silence before his manager gives a curt nod, but the suspicion in his eyes doesn’t go away. “All right. I believe you.” The ‘for now’ is unspoken but clearly hanging in between them.

Changmin leans his head against the tinted glass of the car window and thinks that it is going to be a long ride to the airport.

 

* * *

 

_January 18, 2013_

_0650 hours_

His fans wish him luck for the concert in Hong Kong tomorrow in loud, shrieking voices and frantic gestures. He nods and waves back, tugging the corners of his lips up automatically, security guards and camera flashes surrounding him.

His phone is still vibrating periodically in his jacket pocket. I’ll answer you when I reach the boarding gate, _hyung_ , he thinks.

He slips a hand into his pocket to curl about his phone anyway. It’s comforting to grip it in his palm when people start to push and jostle and his guards have to snarl and shove back.

 

* * *

 

_January 18, 2013_

_0720 hours_

“I want to head to the washroom.” He mutters out of the corner to his manager, taking care not to move his lips too much. His fans have their camera phones up and he doesn’t want any of them –or the hovering paparazzi- to take a video of him requesting permission to go take a wee like a good little schoolboy.

His manager blinks, brow furrowing slightly. “Well, okay. But don’t take too long. Your plane is boarding.”

“Yeah, I know,” he tosses over his shoulder, legs already carrying him towards the nearest restroom.

Striding in, Changmin is relieved to note that there isn’t much of a queue, and the ever-present bodyguard crowding him from behind steps back slightly to give him his personal space when it is evident that none of the men within the restroom are going to rush at him. You never know when there might be a fanatical fanboy –or fangirl disguised as a male- lurking about waiting to pounce, management had insisted years ago when their bodyguards started following them into the restrooms.

He’s usually used to it but it seems to be overkill today because the men start eyeing him after his bodyguard stations himself next to the door. Changmin doesn’t blame them. His bodyguard is a few centimetres shy of two metres tall and resembles those assassins in movies who like to carry out their jobs in public restrooms.

Ignoring the urinals to his right, he heads for an empty cubicle, flipping the seat down to act as a seat for him after locking the door. He bends, and straightens again at the sight of a puddle of questionable origin by the wall. Better to stand.

Retrieving his phone from his pocket, he blinks at the sheer number of messages and missed calls Yunho has managed to leave him in the span of two mere hours.

 

_형_

**We moved indoors some hours ago to do some interior shots because it was so cold. But it seems like Director wants us to do some rooftop scenes in a bit~~~ Miss you!**

_형_

**Ur srs in nt replyin? )): Manager hyung nappin nw so its me^^**

_형_

**D u eat brkfst? O:**

_형_

**U shld at lst reply me 2cheer me on! >:**

_형_

**U KNOW YUNHO FIGHTING! :D :D**

_형_

**Changdol d u miss me~~~~~~ hyung misses u T___T**

_형_

**Brk over TTYL~~~ :)**

_형_

**Brk agn!! Changdol dnt ignore hyung T n T**

_형_

**Ur boarding sn Changdol?**

**25 missed calls from** _형_ _._

 

Changmin rolls his eyes at the increasing incoherency of Yunho’s text messages. Shaking his head, he dials a number he knows by heart and brings the phone to his ear. Two rings later, a breathless voice answers. “Changdollie!”

“ _Hyung_ ,” he intones flatly in lieu of a greeting. “You haven’t slept in days, have you.” It’s not a question but a statement. The hyper-activeness that laces his text messages and the number of missed calls he dialled is evidence enough.

He can practically hear the other man fidget over the phone. “We’ve been rushing the filming, since I won’t be around for Saturday and most of Sunday, and there was a technical problem with one of the cameras the night before-”

“How many days.” Again, it wasn’t a question.

I don't- Um…Three? I think?”

“And they fed you a lot of coffee and sugar. Haven’t they.”

“Uh- Well- I need to keep my strength up, Changminnie.” Yunho’s voice turns from wavering indecision to hard steel in a matter of seconds. “And you? Did you eat?”

“I had milk.” Changmin doesn’t think that is a lie. There was plenty of milk in his caramel macchiato. And milk is an entirely healthy choice for breakfast, so Yunho can say nothing about it. “For your next break, can you take a little nap?”

The silence on the other end is telling. He purses his lips and tries a different tack, one that he hates resorting to but has never failed. “Pleaaaaseeee? _Hyung_? Please? For me? I had breakfast like you told me to. So please? For your Changminnie?”

“Okay, thirty minutes.” Yunho blurts, and Changmin resists the urge to pump his fist in victory. The toilet cubicle is too narrow and he’s more likely to punch the pipes or bang an elbow into the paper dispenser if he isn’t careful. “Promise?”

“I promise,” came the grumble over the line. “I can never not promise whenever you use that tone with me, you sneaky punk.”

“I’m glad you know that.” Changmin tries to prevent the smile on his face from creeping into his words, but he doesn’t think he succeeds. “All right, I need to hang up and board, or Manager-hyung will have a stroke. Stay warm.”

He hangs up without saying goodbye, exiting the cubicle and the restroom with his bodyguard hot on his heels. It’s only later, when he’s settling into his seat in business class, humming despite the scolding he received from his manager for cutting it too close, that he realises he hasn’t washed his hands.

Oh well, he thinks, taking the warm towel the air stewardess hands him with a slight smile that has her eye glazing over, it wasn’t like he was really in there doing anything dirty.

Then he recalls the fact that he had put down the toilet seat with his bare hands but even that isn’t enough to dent his sudden good mood.

His phone vibrates again in his trouser pocket, and his grin widens.

 

* * *

 

_January 18, 2013_

_0805 hours_

“Cabin crew, to your stations.” The static-filled voice of the pilot jolts Changmin awake out of his light doze, and he is startled to find that the seat next to him is occupied when he specifically asked for it to be empty. The seats in business class may be spacious for the average person, but he’s not average in terms of height and having the seat next to his empty always seems to make him feel less cramped somehow.

But the occupant is a little girl, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell her to go back to her own seat. So he settles for smiling at her instead.

She doesn’t smile back. Instead, she blinks and opens her mouth. “Hello.”

He can feel his beam widening involuntarily at the little face with the too-grave expression turned towards him. “Hello there.”

“I know who you are,” she informs him with same amount of sombre gravity that imbues her ‘hello’. “You’re Shim Changmin.”

His eyes are crinkling into different sizes, he knows, he can feel them practically doing so. She is too adorable. “That I am. And you are…?”

“No one important.” She grins then, a sudden glimpse of crooked but white baby teeth, and then it’s gone. He doesn’t know why but he finds that smile familiar. She cranes her neck past him as though she’s searching for someone, but he’s in a window seat and there’s nothing out there but grey sky. “Where is he?”

“Where is who?” Her pigtails look fluffy, and he itches to pat her on the head, right on that gigantic pink velvet ribbon adorning her hairband. But he doesn’t want to appear strange, or worse, seen as a paedophile. Her next words pull his attention from her hair to her person, though. “Jung Yunho. Where is he?”

“Not here,” he replies and is surprised but entertained to see a scowl flashing across her face. “I know that, you silly old man. I’m not asking where he is, but _where_ he is. ”

“Old man?” He doesn’t know whether to feel insulted or amused. He tries a pout, but it doesn’t seem to be successful. The little girl tosses her head back, shrugging as if to say ‘of course’, and levels an unimpressed stare at him. “Why aren’t the two of you together?”

“Because he still has work in Korea,” Changmin volleys back, and tries not to snicker when the stare morphs back into a scowl. It should have been impossible, but she manages to stamp her feet while buckled securely to her seat with a seatbelt. “That’s not what I mean!”

Faintly, he hears the engines roaring and feels the tell-tale tilt of the plane taking off from the ground. His attention remains on the strange little child next to him though; too absorbed by the multitude of expressions her tiny face is capable of displaying. “What was it that you meant, then?”

She huffs, folding her arms across her chest in a hilarious show of adult indignation. “It’s not fun if I have to tell you! You’re supposed to realise it for yourself!” She whines, kicking at the leather upholstery lining the back of the seat in front of her.

Her lip juts out in an exaggerated pout and Changmin admits to himself that she does that better than him, never mind that he has years of experience (pouting at his parents, his relatives, his company seniors, Yunho, ex-girlfriends) on her. There is just something strange about this little girl that he cannot put his finger on, though. He plays along for the time being. “Can I have a hint, then, at least?”

Her sniff is loud and derisive, so he’s more than a little startled when she suddenly leans right into his face, a chubby finger poking into his chest. Her eyes, he notices, look too mature in a face still very much rounded by baby fat. “Okay, how about: _We dance round in a ring and suppose, but the Secret sits in the middle and knows_.”

“W-what?” is the intelligible answer that tumbles from his mouth. His confusion makes the child chortle in childish glee. She wiggles her fingers at him, popping up from her seat. “Hint! That’s your hint, old man with the name of Shim Changmin! Heh. I shan’t play anymore with you now. My mummy must be looking for me.”

He gapes at her. The airplane is still angled steeply, and she’s- she’s- “But you- Wait! We’re not supposed to unbuckle our seatbelts- The sign is still on- It’s dangerous- you _\- Come back_!”

The little girl merely laughs at him and waves, before skipping off. Changmin fumbles with his seatbelt, tugging at it till the buckle comes undone, and bolts out of his seat. He straightens and cranes his head, noting from the corner of his eye that the air stewardess strapped to the staff station nearest to him is rising with an alarmed look on her face.

He turns, and turns, and turns- but- the little girl- where’s- she’s not-

“Sir, I must ask you to sit down! We are still considered to be in takeoff! Sir! As was stated in our in-flight safety demonstration, you cannot remove- _Sir_! You can’t remove your seatbelt when the –Sir, _please_ listen to me; when the lighted sign for it is still on! Sit down, please!”

 

* * *

 

_January 18, 2013_

_1300 hours_

“What was that about?” His manager demands, the minute they were past immigration and waiting in a VIP lounge for a company car to come take them to the hotel.

“I- I have no idea.” Changmin mutters, more than a little unsure himself. “I really thought there was a little girl… I think it was- I don’t know- I- Maybe it was because I skipped breakfast…?”

He didn’t know before that going hungry would cause hallucinations, but now he knows, and-

“Hyung, do you still have the bagels on you?” He holds his hands out and the takeout bag from Starbucks is in his hands seconds later. He savours his first bite; the bagels are cold now, and rather hard, but the taste of bread is still there and he swears then and there to himself that he won’t try to diet again. No matter how round his cheeks become.

Sanity is much, much, more important than razor-sharp cheekbones. At least, in his book.

 

* * *

 

_January 18, 2013_

_1530 hours_

"I heard from Manager-hyung that you had an incident on the plane." Yunho's voice is tinny through the phone, but he can hear the careful neutrality all the same.

"Did you sleep?" Changmin fires back brusquely in return.

"There's no point in trying to divert my attention-"

"Did. You. Sleep." Changmin pleats the hotel bed sheet between his fingers once every word uttered.

There is a slight pause, then, with more feeling, "I napped for half an hour when they called for breakfast break. Why did Manager-hyung tell me you had a breakdown on the plane?"

"It's not- it isn't- it wasn't a breakdown." Raking his fingers through his semi-dried hair, Changmin tries to smooth the creases in the thin sheet away. “I was just- just-”

“Stressed.”

“-just hungry.” He swings his feet down to thud against the plush carpet. It feels foreign and ticklish against his soles, and he curls his toes into the faux fur. It feels like that one time when he stepped on Bambi in revenge after he had slipped on the tube of toothpaste Yunho forgot in the shower. “I was just hungry. I wanted to try to cut down on snacks, but I failed.”

Yunho’s measured breathing is the only thing that assures him the other hasn’t hung up. Changmin kicks at the carpeted floor. “Today was supposed to be the first day of my semi-diet and I failed. Again.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you hardly need to diet.” The response comes, reassuring in its predictability. There is an unspoken _you’re perfect_ tagged at the back. Yunho stopped saying it out loud years ago because Changmin’s habitual response was always to pretend he had heard nothing. Now he wishes he had been less of an emotionally challenged arse to the other man. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

“Don’t be. Just… remember to eat.” Yunho’s light-hearted tone belies the words.

Changmin opens his mouth, prepared to launch into any number of promises, when suddenly Yunho chuckles, the sound made slightly fuzzy with static. “If you don’t eat at least lunch, tea, dinner and supper today, I’ll not sleep a single minute. ”

“What! You-” He splutters, but Yunho cuts him off again brightly, “I won’t nap tomorrow before the concert too! I think that’s a given that I’ll faint during our show, don’t you think? And when the rumours start circulating, maybe I’ll just complain to some of the reporters that always hang around the company building? Ahhh, it’s nothing, I haven’t been sleeping well because Changminnie has been working too hard! I feel so guilty; just look at me! I’m his _hyung_ but I can’t even take good care of him, not even after over ten years-”

Changmin garbles out a sound somewhat reminiscent of a dying animal. “I’ll eat five meals today.” The words are out before he can stop himself.

“Really? That’s my lovely little Changminnie! Always so obedient. Oh, we’re starting to film in five minutes, have to go, love you loads!” Yunho emits a loud kissy noise that seemed to be of a vaguely affectionate nature before hanging up.

The dial tone is still echoing in Changmin’s ears even as he places his phone on the bed stand.

He isn’t entirely sure what happened but he thinks he just got conned successfully by a man who has the (completely and utterly false!) reputation of being one of the nicest idols in the entertainment industry.

 

* * *

 

_January 18, 2013_

_1740 hours_

“I’m bored,” Changmin moans into the mouthpiece of the hotel phone. He refuses to pay a hefty phone bill for long-distance calls to an idiot by the name of Jung Yunho.

“Being bored isn’t sufficient reason enough for bothering me.” Comes the reply in between indiscernible mutterings. The idiot is probably memorising more lines for his drama.

“ _Hyunnnnnng_. You were the one who said you missed me! Shouldn’t you be glad that I’m calling?” He rolls over onto his stomach, kicking his legs into the air. A snort sounds in his ear. “Not when you’re all whiny and clingy. I feel like I’m on the phone with my ex-girlfriend.”

“ _Hyung_!” Changmin sits up, outraged. “How can you compare your loveable dongsaeng” another snort from the other end “to that- that- that psychotic tree vine?”

Yunho bursts into guffaws. “Psychotic tree vine? That’s a new one, Changmin-ah.”

“I know, I know, you can’t help but admire my linguistic prowess,” Changmin flops back onto the pillows, phone clutched tight against his ear. “But seriously, _hyung_ , I’m bored. I can’t leave the hotel because Manager-hyung and the other assistants don’t want to leave the hotel and I can’t go out alone or they’ll all take turns to dismember me when I come back, I can’t go swimming because Manager-hyung says the hotel pools are seriously crowded, I can’t even order room service because I’m saving the Asian menu for dinner and the sandwich selections for supper and there’s nothing else to order because I’ve already ordered them all and I don’t want to repeat my choices and I emptied out the mini-fridge in my room and I’m just so bored.”

“You finished all of the beers they stocked for the room, didn’t you.”

 

* * *

 

_January 18, 2013_

_1950 hours_

“-and really, _hyung_ , the adult films here are not even pay-per-view.” Changmin inhales another _char siew bao_ as he flips through the channels on the television once more. “They’re just _there_. The last time we were in Hong Kong; they only showed shitty previews at the hotel we stayed in then, remember? But I like this one we’re booked in now. I like it so much. The films are just _there_ and we can just watch them and-” he burps “-they don’t even pixelate the interesting parts.”

Yunho half-sighs and half-laughs, “Changmin-ah, did you order wine with your dinner? You did, right?”

“ _Hyung_ , you’re so smart!” Changmin can’t help but chortle into the mouthpiece. Seriously, Yunho is so smart. Why does everyone always seem to think he’s the smart one? Yunho is so, _so_ smart. “I ordered white wine because I ordered the fish, and seafood is great with white wine, isn’t it, but their wine list is so perfect that I couldn’t resist a red. And it was great! The red was great! Heehee.”

“You are going to be _so_ bitchy about this tomorrow.” Yunho sighs.

 

* * *

 

_January 18, 2013_

_2200 hours_

“Changdol-ah, why are you still giggling?” Changmin feels as though Yunho’s voice is coming from somewhere far, far away. He rolls across the bed and laughs – he doesn’t giggle, because giggling is not manly- when the telephone follows suit too. He has the telephone line wrapped around his fingers and they look sort of like the rings his _cordi-noonas_ always make him wear.

His Yunho is still talking to him though. It takes a lot of effort to concentrate on what he’s saying, but Changmin does it anyway, because that’s his Yunho. “… already been two hours so by rights you should be sober.”

“I’m sober!” He declares, poking at the velvet headboard with his toes. They leave shallow indentations that fade away after a few seconds. He frowns and presses them harder against the soft surface. “Yunho! _Hyung_! I’m sober! I’m having dessert now! Their brandy is amazing. _Hyung_ , there’s a pear! And it isn’t golden. The brandy. But it’s French. Remember Paris, hyung? Not the Paris we went to with SM family, but the Paris with Bonjour! But the brandy isn’t Parisian. I think.”

His Yunho sighs again. His Yunho keeps sighing in their phone calls today. Maybe it’s because he keeps talking and his Yunho can’t talk as much because his Yunho loves to talk. But he really wants to ask his Yunho something that he really cannot figure out. “Hyung, the pear in the brandy is really delicious but I don’t think I’m supposed to eat it but I ate it so do you think I can eat it?”

 

* * *

 

_January 18, 2013_

_2359 hours_

“…I’ll see you tomorrow, Changmin-ah. I’ll try to get as early a flight as possible, okay? The PD wants us to reshoot a few angles for the car scene tomorrow morning, but I think I’ll be in Hong Kong before noon. Remember to drink loads of water when you wake up.” Yunho is talking, but Changmin cannot seem to hear him properly.

“Mmm.” Changmin just wants to sleep.

“I’ll hang up now, don’t go crazy with the alcohol again. Sleep, all right?” Yunho is still talking, but Changmin really, really wants to sleep.

“Hnngh.”

“Yeah, I don’t think you’ll touch any more of it, but… I should call Manager-hyung.” Yunho loves to talk and Changmin thinks he loves Yunho, but right now Changmin loves sleep even more.

“Gark.”

“Good night, Changdollie. _Hyung_ needs to go film his scenes again in a bit.” Changmin doesn’t know why Yunho is whispering in his ear, but he doesn’t want to know either. He just wants sleep.

“Pbbft.” Something is beeping continuously in his ear, but Changmin doesn’t care, because he is sleeping.

Someone is pulling the covers over him, and sweeping his fringe out of his hair, but Changmin doesn’t care about that either, because he is sleeping.


	2. Chapter 2

 

**TWO:**

**Though we'll never live this moment again  
The clock is ticking away in vain  
Time itself has chased us down  
But we've tricked it at it's own Game  
Nothing to keep me from you**

 

* * *

_January 18, 2013  
0430 hours_

  
Changmin feels like something crawled into his mouth and stuck tentacles into his brain before shitting in his throat and dying. Fuck.  
  
“Fuck,” he utters into the pillow. The hoarseness of his own voice makes the rational part of his brain shriek in worry for the concert happening in fourteen hours, but Pain –yes, with a capital P- beats it into submissive silence. What the fuck is wrong with him.  
  
“What the fuck is wrong with me,” he questions the surprisingly comfortable hotel pillow. He remembers it being lumpier when he first mushed his face into it to test the softness the afternoon before, and now it even smells of Yunho’s cologne.  
  
Wait.  
  
He opens an eye and is momentarily startled by the total darkness before realising that his head is still buried deeply in the pillow. Maybe if he smothers himself with it, the knives drilling into his temple will go away.  
  
Lifting his head slightly from the pillow, he cracks his other eye open. Then shuts it again.  
  
He is clearly still dreaming, because he just saw the interior of his bedroom. His bedroom in his newly bought apartment in Seoul. But he is in Hong Kong now, and he’s slightly miffed at himself for having such a boring dream. Who the hell would dream about themselves sleeping in their own homes?  
  
“This isn’t fucking happening,” he grumbles into his dream pillow. Why is he so boring? Why is his dream even about his own home? Why is his head even hurting in a dream—  
  
What.  
  
He pinches himself on the inner thigh, and— “Fuck!” He glares at his own hand. That hurt. Which means, which means-  
  
His pillow –on his bed! In his bedroom! At his apartment!— vibrates into his face and he gives a startled shriek (not that he would ever admit it even under the threat of death) and tries to leap up and away from it.  
  
Only to roll off the bed and fall flat on his ass against the cold hard floor of his bedroom.  _I really need to get a fucking carpet_ , he thinks, and the second thought that flashes through his mind is,  _why the fuck am I thinking about home décor when I’m not even sure that I am sane anymore_.  
  
He is in his bedroom in his own apartment.  _He is in his bedroom in his own apartment_.  
  
He pokes his head up cautiously to eye his phone, which is now lying innocuously on his bed, his pillow… somewhere else. He doesn’t know and doesn’t care.  
  
Changmin is very proud of himself for not crouching in a corner screaming his throat out. He stabs at the button on his phone, making noises that sound vaguely animal-like at the two text messages flashing on the screen.

  
  
 _형_  
 **Changmin-ah! Time to wake up ^^**  
  
 _형_  
 **Remember to eat some breakfast and not just drink coffee! (:**  
  
  
Banging his head against the bedframe, he groans, partly because of the pain and partly because of this… whatever-it-is that he is in. “Fuck.”  


* * *

 

  
 _January 18, 2013_  
 _0515 hours_  
  
Changmin accepts his extra sweet caramel macchiato with extra milk and extra sauce from his manager wordlessly. He is unshaven and rumpled; his manger had freaked out and threw a fit for exactly forty-five seconds when he opened his apartment door dressed like this precisely fifteen minutes before.  
  
The clothes that he wore yesterday, the yesterday that has somehow become today, lie bunched up across his lap. His manager had blown into and out of his bedroom like a hurricane –a hurricane that mysteriously relocated from Hong Kong to Seoul overnight— clothes in one hand and Changmin’s collar clenched in the other. His mouth has not yet stopped with the remonstrations, all revolving around the theme of how Changmin has been in the industry for nearly ten years and should know better than to attempt heading to the airport in his sleepwear.  
  
Changmin is still undecided if this is just an elaborate prank set up by his staff. He supposes it might be possible to move his body without his being aware of it if they had grounded sleeping pills into his food, but to go through all the trouble of changing the date on his phone to yesterday’s and getting the broadcasting station to show yesterday’s news on his television, seems a little extreme to him. He wonders why they have wasted so much effort when his birthday is still a month away.  
  
“ _Hyung_ ,” he asks hesitantly, “what’s the date today?”  
  
His manager looks at him as though he’s just announced that he’s going to run through the airport naked. “The eighteenth, Changmin, the eighteenth! And tomorrow is the nineteenth, your concert, Dong Bang Shin Ki’s concert, the second stop in your world tour! Your world tour! Why are you asking about the date,  _are you telling me you forgot about it_?”  
  
“No, no,” Changmin attempts a stilted ha-ha-ha, because the glint of desperation in his manager’s eyes is more than a little frightening. His manager ignores his denial and rants on, his anxious hysteria making him speak in Capital Letters, “I Knew It Wasn’t A Good Idea To Split Your Schedule Up From Yunho’s!!!! I Cannot Do This Without  _Hyung-nim_ ,” referring to Yunho’s personal manager, who has been in charge of their team ever since they debuted.  
  
“ _Hyung_ , we’re inside the car, remember? Indoor, not outdoors. Use your inside voice,” Changmin’s advice goes unheard, as his manager’s mutters get more frantic. He sighs, smacking his head against the car window in resignation. It is going to be a long ride to the airport… again.  


* * *

  
 _January 18, 2013_  
 _0650 hours_  
  
Changmin’s fans wish him luck for the concert in Hong Kong tomorrow in loud, shrieking voices and frantic gestures. It is all too familiar, and all too impossible in its familiarity. He does his best in trying to don a poker face, but he thinks his internal meltdown is apparent to the buzzing crowd regardless.  
  
It’s all the same. Why is it all the same? The people, the reactions, the things experienced, all the minute details; all,  _all_  identical.  
  
Changmin wonders if he has finally cracked under the pressure of his career. Although there is the fact that he doesn’t feel the slightest bit insane. He feels rather collected, albeit panicky. He feels lucid, rational. But then again, don’t all lunatics think themselves the sanest people in the world?  
  
His professional smile crumbles slightly around the edges like a deflated soufflé.  _I don’t want to be mad. I’m too young to be mad._  
  
 _Déjà vu_ , he thinks without amusement as the camera flashes blind him for the second time. The security guards perform the same actions as they did yesterday—or does he even have a yesterday if it is the same as today? If the people whom he saw yesterday did not know that there is a yesterday?  
  
If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? If Changmin experiences a yesterday but no one is aware that there was a yesterday, is there a yesterday regardless?  
  
His head hurts from all the philosophical thinking. That’s Kyuhyun’s area of expertise, preferably over a glass of vintage red. Not Changmin’s. He’s more inclined to grounding his observations in reality.  
  
Changmin’s phone vibrates in his pocket, and he gropes for it sightlessly, vision still spotty from the continuous bursts of lights.  _Hyung,_  he thinks,  _it’s hyung texting me, and yesterday –that previous today- whatever fucking day it is, I didn’t answer him till later, but—_  
  
His hand closes around his phone with all the desperation of a drowning man. Pulling up the touchscreen keypad with a thumb, he enters Yunho’s number, a number he knows by heart. It’s been the bone of contention between the two of them many, many times. He likes to keep Yunho’s number off his phone so that the latter is safe even if  _sasaengs_  steal Changmin’s phone; but Yunho always insists on re-entering his number into it and setting himself as speed dial number one, muttering all the while under his breath that he knows it’s just Changmin’s way of hinting that his hyung is too clingy.  
  
Changmin usually ends up being so frustrated that he stops talking to Yunho for an hour. Or two.  
  
“ _Hyung_ ,” he gasps into the phone as Yunho answers the call with a sound of surprised delight. “Changmin-ah!”  
  
“ _Hyung_ ,” Changmin repeats, his white-knuckled grip tight around his phone as he follows the guards on a path he took before, exactly twenty-four hours ago. Yunho’s worried murmurs of “Changminnie, what’s wrong? What’s wrong?” ring in his ears as he tries to form words, but they come out half-moulded and misshaped. “ _Hyung_ , I think I’m having a panic attack.”  
  
“Give the phone to Manager-hyung, quickly,” Yunho’s tone changes, from what Changmin is fond of labelling as his  _Yuno-chan_  mode to the crisp, modulated one Yunho uses when he’s working and focused. “Go on, give it to him.”  
  
“Okay,” Changmin says. “Okay.” He raises a hand to beckon his manager, who had been walking in front and glancing back at him –in worry? In exasperation? He doesn’t know— every now and then. Yunho’s voice is clear in his ear, and the reassurance that this brings makes Changmin slightly weak in the knees. “And Changmin? Changmin, breathe.”  
  
“Breathe,” Changmin nods even though Yunho cannot possibly see the gesture, leaning against the wall. “Okay, yes, yes, breathe. I’ll breathe.”  
  
The black spots in his vision, a lingering product of the multitude of camera flashes, appear to grow and expand.  


* * *

  
 _January 18, 2013  
0750 hours_  
  
“…Changmin.  _Changmin_!”  
  
Changmin’s eyes open to the sight of his manager hovering over him, features contorted by anxiety. “ _Hyung_ ,” he mutters in lieu of a greeting. The back of his head is throbbing, and he doesn’t know if it’s from the residual effects of his hangover or from whatever injuries he may have suffered from— well, from whatever that may have happened. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know where he is. “Where am I?”  
  
“In the VIP lounge,” The other says, brow contorted and eyes anxious. “You… Well, no other way to put it, but you fainted.”  
  
“I fainted. I fainted,” Changmin repeats. He wants to say more, but he hears the taut thread of unsteady hysteria in his own voice, and clams up, shaking his head. The fur of his jacket is ticklish against his neck. He focuses on the sensation instead, bundling his panic and shoving it into some dark corner of his psyche.  
  
“Yes,” His manager wrings his hands, a move uncharacteristic of one usually –at least outwardly- unflappable in times of crisis. “You… They carried you out into here as fast as they could. Yunho was frantic.”  
  
Changmin nods, not trusting himself to say more. The older man takes the silence as an implicit command to continue. “There are fancams. Lots of them. Last… Last we checked, there are twenty-eight and counting videos, either up on Youtube or Dailymotion. One of them has about eight hundred thousand hits and it’s only been up for twelve minutes.”  
  
He pauses, hopeful for a response, but Changmin doesn’t look away from his staring competition with the floor, hair falling over his eyes.  
  
“Ah, and,” his manger blurts, glad that he thought up something to break through the stifling quiet, “Yunho wants you to call him once you’re… awake. Maybe—”  
  
“Is the plane open for boarding?” Changmin interrupts, scrubbing a hand through his hair to hide the trembling of his fingers. At his manager’s nod, he stands up abruptly; dislodging the thermal blanket that he didn’t even notice was draped over his torso. “It is, right? Let’s go,  _hyung_. We’re going to miss the flight.”  
  
“But- do you think you can-” His manager stutters, unsure of how to phrase his question without igniting his charge’s temper. “I’m fine,” Changmin mumbles curtly, grabbing his bag from where it’s been left on the floor.  
  
“Are you sure- And Yunho wants you to call him—”  
  
“ _Hyung_ , I’ll call him when we reach,” Changmin doesn’t look at his manager in the eye when he says it. He can’t. He feels like a used rubber band, over stretched for too long a time. Almost, almost ready to snap.  
  
 _I am not insane,_  he tells himself, repeating the words over and over again in his head _. I am not insane. There is an explanation for this_.  _I am_ not _insane._  


* * *

  
 _January 18, 2013_  
 _0805 hours_  
  
“Cabin crew, to your stations.” Changmin keeps his eyes wide open when the static-filled voice of the pilot sounds out of the sound system, and he isn’t surprised to hear footsteps in the nearly empty business class cabin. Footsteps that are too quick and uneven to be the measured tread of an air stewardess.  
  
He is even less surprised when a child appears at the aisle next to him, a smile on her face at the sight of him, as she clambers clumsily up onto the too wide seat. Her legs are dangling off the edge again, too short to touch the carpeted floor.  
  
He is surprised, though, when she laughs at him, reminiscent of tinkling bells, and asks, “So how was your day, Shim Changmin?”  
  
He finds himself growing very, very still. That wasn’t what she said yesterday—no, today. “You didn’t say that yesterday,” he points out with eerie calm.  
  
Somehow he’s totally not shocked when she pauses in her laughter to say, “No, I didn’t. ”  
  
So she knows that there is a yesterday, too. So, so. So.  
  
“You caused this.” Changmin feels his hands clenching into fists, but he relaxes them again, finger by finger. He keeps his breathing steady, even when she stares at him, all traces of laughter gone.  _In and out, Changmin,_  he tells himself.  _Like Yunho said. Breathe._  “I don’t know how you do it, but you made this happen.”  
  
“And what is this, exactly?” The little girl crosses her legs in a too adult gesture that seems almost farcical, but Changmin starts to understand that perhaps, she isn’t a little girl at all. She’s something else. “This. You know.  _This_.”  
  
She doesn’t say anything, choosing to continue to gaze at him unblinkingly. He tamps down his frustration. “This. Today. Yesterday. They’re… They’re,” he lowers his voice, mindful of other people in the spacious cabin. He doesn’t want anyone else hearing him. They will think him to be ready for the loony bin. Hell, even he himself thinks he’s ready for the loony bin. “They’re the same. The same. Today is yesterday. I’m stuck in a—a— a time… A time loop of sorts. I’m supposed to be in Hong Kong, I’m supposed to be rehearsing for my concert. Today is supposed to be Saturday,”  _Yunho is supposed to be with me, by my side_ , a thought streaks across his mind but he shoves it to the back of his head, “today is supposed to be Saturday. And it’s not.”  
  
“It’s not,” she agrees, uncrossing her legs to swing them idly. “It’s Friday.”  
  
“It’s Friday,” Changmin echoes, hysteria bubbling in his chest, his throat. He takes another deep, deliberate breath.  
  
“Gotta get down to Friday,” the child sings in reply, kicking at the back of the seat in the row before them. “Changmin’s looking forward to the weekend, weekend. Oh, which seat should I take?” She smiles, crooked white baby teeth on display again. “This one or yours?”  
  
Changmin grits his teeth. “Why are you doing this?”  
  
“Why not?” She offers, ceasing the kicking to fold her legs beneath her instead. She cups her hands about her face, widening her eyes at him. Changmin doesn’t find that adorable any more. He simply can’t. “Why can’t I do it?”  
  
“You just—I—Why?” Changmin scrubs both hands through his hair. “Why me?”  
  
“Why not you?” She offers, and Changmin tamps down the urge to commit homicide—infanticide, whatever the act of murdering children or not-quite-humans is called— and settles for glaring at her instead.  
  
“I’m not insane,” Changmin says fiercely. “I’m not insane. I’m not. I won’t let myself be.”  
  
“Huh. No one’s saying you’re all cracked up there, you know,” the little girl taps a chubby finger against her temple, cocking her head to one side, eyes slitted in merriment. Her grin contains all the shades of mockery conceivable. He digs his nails into the plastic surface of the armrests by the sides of his seat, aggravation roughening his voice. “You’re in my head. You’re not real. This is not real.”  
  
“I suppose you can say this is in your head, but why won’t it be real then?”  
  
“Stop playing with me,” Changmin snaps, impotent rage a noxious mixture in his chest, hankering to get out. “Just—stop. What do you want? Just tell me what you want!”  
  
The little girl sighs, pouting. “You’re no fun! All right, all right.”  
  
“Well?” Changmin demands. “Will you just—”  
  
“You’re an impatient person, Shim Changmin,” the child—thing—being interrupts with a sanguinity alien to her outward appearance. “All that hostility is not good for your health. Ten years down the road and you’ll suffer a heart attack from all these undue stress and anxiety, mark my words.”  
  
“Thanks very much for your concern. Not. I am a very patient person,” he grounds out from behind the tightness in his jaw, “You would be hostile too, if some fucked up little imp decides to fuck up your life and can’t offer a fucking reason for it!”  
  
The child stares at him in disdain. “It’s not nice to swear in front of children,” she scolds, “and I’m not an imp. They’re lowly minions not worthy of even a second of my time. Also, I’m certainly not little!”  
  
“I don’t care what the fuck you are.” Changmin tries to pace his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. In. “I don’t care what the fuck you think. Just tell me what the fuck you want and. Go. The fuck. Away.”  
  
“That’s not very nice,” she sniffs with an aggrieved air of injury around her like a protective mantle. “Not nice at all. I’d say you’re downright mean. But all right, if you must. I’ll stand by what I said tod—Oh, apologies, I meant yesterday.” She smirks at his barely suppressed growl. “Here:  _We dance round in a ring and suppose, but the Secret sits in the middle and knows_. Now figure that out.”  
  
“What the  _fuck_  is that supposed to mean,” the reins on his control break, and he erupts at a volume loud enough to ensure an alarmed “Sir! Whatever is the matter?” from the air stewardess five rows away. Changmin doesn’t hear her though. His ire and his concentration are focused on the creature next to him. “Why the fuck is it a riddle, why the fuck are you harassing me, why the fuck can’t you _just tell me what you want,_  —”  
  
“I could, but where’s the fun in that?” The thing laughs and gives a jaunty wave, hopping off the seat to skip down the aisle and—and— “Wait, fuck, come back!”  
  
“Nuh uh, bye!” She darts towards and  _through_  the body of the air stewardess hurrying in his direction. And vanishes.  


* * *

  
 _January 18, 2013_  
 _1300 hours_  
  
“What was that about?” His manager demands, the minute they were past immigration and waiting in a VIP lounge for a company car to come take them to the hotel. Changmin shakes his head at yet another identical scenario from yesterday and stares at his shoes. “Nothing, I just thought that there was a  _saesaeng_  in the cabin… Nothing.”  
  
“You can’t just go around screaming like this in public, Changmin. You’re not a rookie anymore, surely you don’t need me to remind you to think of your image,” the other man starts, but Changmin interrupts him with a brusque, “You have two bagels in your bag, don’t you?”  
  
“I—How did you know that?” His manager gapes at him— _like a fish caught on a hook_ , Changmin thinks uncharitably. “I’m psychic. Now hand them over, I’m hungry.”  


* * *

  
 _January 18, 2013_  
 _1530 hours_  
  
"I heard from Manager- _hyung_  that you had an incident on the plane." Yunho's voice is tinny through the phone, but the careful neutrality lacing his words are evident –again— all the same.  
  
“I’m fine,” Changmin’s tone leaves no room for argument. “Don’t worry. I just need some sleep.”  
  
“You’re sure?” Yunho says in a way that screams  _you’re not sure_ , but Changmin commands himself to ignore it. He can’t unload on Yunho now, the other man is too stressed by drama filming; besides, the whole thing is entirely too ridiculous for Yunho to actually believe he is telling the truth. Changmin is the one living through this nightmare and he’s not even sure that he believes himself. It won’t do to cause Yunho undue worry. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll go nap. You rest too,  _hyung_. See you tomorrow.”  
  
 _If there_ is _a tomorrow_ , he thinks bitterly and forces himself to hang up amidst Yunho’s protestations. Pressing ‘reject call’ on his phone’s screen when it lights up again with a picture of Yunho and him arm wrestling while laughing at the camera, he pulls up the text message app and types in “I’m fine, going to nap and put phone on silent mode. Sorry for not answering your call, I’m tired”, for once sending it without even bothering to check for grammatical or spelling mistakes.  
  
His phone chimes after two seconds, a grey box popping up on the screen.

  
  
 _형_  
 **Ok. Rest well ^^ Love you**  
  
Changmin brushes a thumb across his phone’s display and swallows the lump clogging his throat.

 

* * *

  
 _January 18, 2013_  
 _1535 hours_  
  
Changmin tries to nap.  


* * *

  
 _January 18, 2013_  
 _1600 hours_  
  
Changmin gives up on napping and sits up in bed, hand groping at the nightstand for the remote control to the television.  


* * *

  
 _January 18, 2013_  
 _1900 hours_  
  
For the first time in his life, Changmin can say that he is tired of porn.  
  
He has been flipping through the numerous channels offering pornography for a mind-numbing three hours, but he hasn’t been excited –enough for his body to stop being biologically indifferent— by the lewd images presented in high definition plasma. Not even once.  


* * *

  
 _January 18, 2013_  
 _1930 hours_  
  
Changmin roots out the menu from the huge study table in his hotel room, exactly where he found it the day before, and calls for room service.  
  
He orders from their Western selections for dinner instead, feeling enormously defiant at doing something starkly different from yesterday.  


* * *

  
 _January 18, 2013_  
 _2050 hours_  
  
Changmin suppresses the impulse to raid the mini-bar and shifts about on his bed in a futile attempt to get comfortable. He has to remain sober tonight.  
  
He finds his eyes flicking back to the little fridge semi-hidden in the console beneath the television, anyway.  


* * *

  
 _January 18, 2013_  
 _2210 hours_  
  
Changmin stares at the red digits of the hotel room clock in trepidation. One hour and fifty minutes more till the nightmare is over.  
  
 _I don’t think she’s finished with you,_  a hitherto unknown and insidious part of him ponders, but he refuses to entertain that notion.  


* * *

  
 _January 18, 2013_  
 _2330 hours_  
  
Changmin pleats the bed sheet between his fingers. One pleat, two pleats, three… thirty four, thirty five. Thirty six.  
  
Half an hour more. He can do this.  


* * *

  
 _January 18, 2013_  
 _2358 hours_  
  
Changmin means to stay up until it is one o’clock in the morning, until it is safe, until it is tomorrow, but his eyelids disagree with their heaviness.  
  
The last thing he registers before the blissful blankness of sleep is the giggly “You are very veeeeery sleeeeepy” he feels more than hears in his ear; and the despairing  _oh fuck no_  running through his mind accompanying it.


End file.
